


Sticks and Sheer Stubbornness

by Leonawriter



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonawriter/pseuds/Leonawriter
Summary: Fourteen year old Genesis still has a lot of catching up to do before he can reach the level he needs to be at. Sephiroth's level. And he isn't about to waste a moment in order to get there.





	Sticks and Sheer Stubbornness

**Author's Note:**

> Short ficlet. Done for Genesis Week. I’m putting Genesis as fourteen here because we have no clue when he first came to Midgar, and how fast it took to go up the ranks, so any spitballing guess in the park is as good as another.

_Again._

Genesis had trained with a sword before, but he'd been a kid in Banora, and no matter what he said, no one would let him near the ones that weren't just wooden, that weren't simple sticks that'd break the moment you hit them too hard, too often.

He and Angeal had broken a  _lot_ of wooden stick swords, in their time.

Now, however-

Now, it was just him, on his own, in the training court. Not even the VR training room; he hadn't even got to that level yet. He wasn't even swinging this thing  _at_ anything. 

It was metal, and it was  _heavy._ But he was  _Genesis Rhapsodos_ , and he was going to become a  _hero_ , he was going to become someone more than who he'd been, and he  _was not going to give up._

 _Again_ , he told himself, and he repeated the pattern. 

His arms hurt, and his legs were tiring too, but if he couldn't make this work, if he couldn't make it  _easy_ , then what was the point? Sephiroth was fourteen and he was  _already_ out on the battlefield.

Right foot out, left behind, and-

He tripped, feeling his weight shift into the wrong place with just little enough time that he couldn't correct it, and he came crashing down to the ground with a gasp of pain, the metal training sword clattering from his grip.

He stayed there for a while. Just to get his breath back, he told himself, because the mako they'd put in him made it so that the bruises would heal soon. It wasn't because even if they healed they still hurt, or the way that his muscles shook. The more he practiced, the less that would happen.

Genesis took a deep breath, and his right hand reached out beside him for his sword, and he didn't groan as he levered himself upright again, keeping the sound behind clenched teeth.

He'd been mesmerised by the dancers in the village, and the places he'd been through, who'd moved so fast, and who looked so beautiful.

He was going to be able to move like that one day - but not on the dance floor, not in the village square, not even on the theatre stage.

On the battlefield, his enemies would see him dancing, and he would be holding onto something far more beautiful than  _this_ pile of cheap metal.

His parents had always told him he was stubborn. He'd been able to tell before he left that they weren't entirely happy with him for some reason, but they'd always shown pride in him for never giving up, and after getting this far he certainly didn't plan to stop now.


End file.
